Caterwauling

The office is reeking of stink from one of the downstairs restaurant’s bathrooms. But the Lync connection is fooked so I can work instead of being in a meeting. Given that the AC is behaving today, I’m calling this one a win. 

I do a lot of complaining (exhibit A: caterwauling.com), and while I want to complain about a colleague senselessly getting hurt by some rogue dog (gulp), I just want to say how I love how my team rallies and everyone rushes to help out. So, I just want to say thanks to people who will never read this, because we are awesome together. 

Sweltering as usual in the place where the AC works intermittently. 

Would rather be home in the near-silence. 

Trying to remind myself that i will never again have to hear the OPEC oversupply of oil drums rattling me out of my skin every five minutes. 

Just a shame to have to give up the quiet at work at the same time I finally could be enjoying it at home. 

Awakened to my alarm, not to a crane being dropped on my head. For the first time in 226 days. 

The peace didn’t last long. Whoever was upstairs made a point of displaying their pissed-offedness by banging the sliding glass door and whatever furniture could withstand their violence. 

You know, business as usual. 

But then a glorious thing happened … Nothing. Two men were seen dragging paper towels, suitcases and a round glass tabletop down the hall to the garage. 

They banged the door shut one last time. 

And all was well in Whoville. 

I celebrated by walking downstairs for the first time in six weeks to feed the last remaining duck who didn’t leave. 

He was hungrily snacking on popcorn and seeds when I saw human movement over my shoulder.

I was scared, but I looked. 

It was a man in the first floor apartment directly beneath mine. (I’m several floors up, and he probably witnessed the thousands of bread and seed showers we used to host.)

I figured he’d be upset. But he grinned big and gave me two thumbs up. He loved the ducks, too. 

As they say in Whoville, my heart grew three sizes today. 

And judging from the way my pants fit, so did my ass. But, details. 

It sounded like upstairs has been potato-sack racing in spurs for the last 20 hours. 

But then I saw a bunch of strange men … and a moving truck. 

I’ve gotten fooled before, but I did take a photo of their open door and assorted crap outside of it.   

I know better than to be hopeful. But, you know, after 240 nights without sleep, I’m kinda ready for more than three consecutive hours of peace. 

I liked the cold open on SNL tonight. It was refreshing to hear French being spoken. 

I’m pretty through with hearing Spanish everywhere with no attempt to use English. 

And anything beats that clickety Congo shit that peppers the screaming and blubbering from upstairs. 

I tried to go to bed at 11 — my wisdom tooth cracked clean off and the exposed root is making me insane. Upstairs picked 11:10 to start throwing shit, stomping and playing loud music. I need for them to run along and die already. And for the money fairy to visit so I can function again.  

“You’ve changed,” mom said to me today. 

“How so?” I asked, thinking about some stupid Faceypages quiz I just took that says I’m more confident than I was in 2011. 

“You used to wake up early and take walks. You used to feed cats and birds and ducks. Now you won’t even go out on a balcony because you don’t want to be seen.”

She’s right you know. 

I used to work in bum fuck Egypt. Nearly an hour drive each way in my crappy car, doing familiar work to what I’ve done for years. My highlight: I would stop on the way home in a bad neighborhood and feed a big family of stray cats. 

Then I’d go home to my beautiful island view that I couldn’t see because it was always dark when I got home and it was still dark when I left for the long drive to nowhereville. 

At some point Animal Control rounded up and destroyed my kitties. I went back every day for two weeks. No furballs were there to greet me anymore. 

Then I got moved to a nearer, and certainly more fun, town for work. And just as I got a coveted work from home day, I lost my precious view when I had to move. 

Alas, I got an ok view at the new house. And constant screaming, banging and furniture-dragging from upstairs to destroy my sanity. 

After confronting the violent fucks, I kept to myself. They threatened me twice and hey, my pepper spray is no match for psychosis. So I withdrew from being seen too much. 

Then I got in trouble for feeding ducks from the balcony. So when I went downstairs to feed them, I got terrorized by an ugly cunt wirh a big mouth, unleashed mutts and an aversion to cleaning their poop. And she has a bunch of friends with dogs who are equally ugly and irresponsible. 

So, here I sit. The ducks have left save for one who stands downstairs and looks up here all day and night. Mom is sad and sick all the time, and between that and Thundercunt’s giant meat flaps, I have nothing left. 

Looking at old photos, I can see my happiest times. And what they all had in common were exercise, dating, friends, animals and freelance. Right now I have none of that. And that’s probably why I look so bad in pictures now. 

I miss me. And I don’t even know where to look for her. Or if I feel like scrubbing my butt and getting off the couch long enough to put an ad on a (lactose-free) milk carton to find her. 

Mom went to bed early because she’s dizzy. Again. This is a thing now. 

Nae-Nae is stomping around on her wood floors in heels. The kids are beating on mom’s ceiling. I can hear them from the living room. 

My colleague who lives across the lake apparently has no clue about my nine lives online. So he said innocently enough, “Do you still like it there?”

I said when did I ever like it? He said he knows the upstairs people are awful. He can even hear them screaming and see them walking around from across the lake. 

He says he’s encountered a lot of snooty people here. I said trash is more like it. Not enough money to buy class. Then I told him about the crazy who charged me around the lake with her unleashed dog. He said wow. 

I said it out loud that I’m not renewing my lease. It felt freeing. I don’t know if by speaking it into existence that I’ll come into money and move to Tuscany or that I’ll be without means to pay the rent. Either way, I’m looking for daylight and running toward it. 

I just hope mom is strong enough to run with me. 

I just saw the saddest Veterans Day parade go by the office.

There was a U-Haul decked out in red, white and blue bunting and party favors.

Then a SWAT team van.

Then a cop car.

The end.

It reminded me of the “Straight is Great!” parade my friends and I tried to throw in 1992 at our musical-theater-student-dominated school.

Four of us showed up. Because we were the only non-dancers/-actors in the joint.

Of course, the “inclusive” events didn’t get any attendance either. I mean, why go out of your way to hang with your people when the entire college is your people?

In all seriousness, though, how sad that traffic was blocked off for a mile in each direction, and all the thanks we can show our veterans is a car full of cops and a van full of soldiers.

I continue to tip my hat not only to my grandfather, but also to his mom Jesse, who had five sons in World War II and proudly displayed a sign in her front window that she was a “Five-Star Mom.”

I have a problem with the rights that many people take too far, yes, but it’s because of Calvin, Clair, Red, Russ and Tom (and even little brother Ron) that we have those rights to appreciate or trample on. Thank you all for loving your country.

And so very sorry, Grampy, that the Veterans Hospital in Oakland/Aspinwall took your life so senselessly. Somehow this parade seems a fitting example of how our vets are really treated in exchange for their sacrifice.

Dear Head Cheese, Olive Loaf and Stinky Cheese,

I don’t know if you watched “Talk Soup” back when “The Hills” was going off the air. Joel McHale showed the final clip of everyone driving off into the sunset, and his graphics department added in a big giant explosion blew them all to smithereens.

That is my wish for you.

Enjoy living in hell with my soon-to-be former neighbors.

Love,
Goddess